


Right on His Sleeve

by Carmenlire



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Healing, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Introspection, M/M, References to Depression, Soft Husbands, references to pre-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 12:45:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19151290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmenlire/pseuds/Carmenlire
Summary: It was one among a hundred scars that marked him a soldier, after all, and it faded into the background most days.But Alec knows what it is and he can still feel a trace of the buzz that had lit through his veins. He doesn’t think about it most days. That reality feels so far removed from his life now that it doesn’t even seem likehimanymore.There are these reminders, though, always lurking in his periphery.Or, Alec's scars are more than skin deep.





	Right on His Sleeve

**Author's Note:**

> This contains explicit references to past self-harm.

Toweling his hair dry, Alec walks out of the bathroom. He walks over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of plain black boxer-briefs and tosses the towel onto the floor to deal with later.

Sliding the drawer shut, he steps into the underwear. It’s mid-morning and he’d woken up a little while ago, Magnus nowhere to be found.

Though, really, Alec hadn’t looked very hard. Assuming his husband was in his apothecary working for a few hours, Alec had lingered for a little while in bed before stumbling into the bathroom for a shower.

He turns toward the closet, debating whether to pilfer through Magnus’s side for today’s outfit when he stops.

He doesn’t know why it catches his attention. 

He doesn’t know why all of a sudden the breath stalls in his chest, why it’s like his world stills on its axis for an imperceptible moment.

Blinking back tears that he’d deny to his dying day, Alec takes a greedy lungful of air that sounds like a gasp in the silent room. He steps up to the mirror, closer, and his eyes don’t leave where they’re staring at the small scar on his stomach.

It’s nothing unusual. With a wry twist of his mouth, Alec reflects that the scar is one among dozens that litter his body. Most wouldn’t take note of it-- they’d assume that it was another mark of battle, heroic in its stark little reminder that Alec was a soldier and that he’d fought too many battles to count, that he’d been injured yet had always remained victorious.

Only he knows the truth, though.

He remembers when it happened. Only sixteen, that night had been hard. Half of him had wondered whether he’d make it to the morning.

Most of him had hoped that he wouldn’t.

Out on patrol, Alec had heard the telltale sound of a demon slithering through an alley. Bow up, he’d cautiously entered the dead end and almost immediately been assaulted with the stringent stench of the demon. That particular skirmish should’ve been easy. It was a single demon and even though he was only sixteen, Alec was already making a name for himself in the mission debriefs. His success rate was unparalleled in New York and he took a vicious satisfaction in the fact that while he might feel like a walking corpse most days, he could still do his job better than most.

The demon had landed a lucky hit and Alec had been shoved against brick. Ichor dripped onto the sidewalk, sizzling with every drop, and the demon’s talon had grazed his side. Hissing out a breath, Alec had grimaced as that talon pinched a little deeper.

As Alec studies himself in the mirror, a tendril of shame still burns through him at what had happened next.

At what he’d let happen.

For all that it had landed lucky hit, the demon was obviously disoriented and on its last legs. Alec could’ve run it through with his blade or errant arrow any time he’d wanted.

But for those few seconds he hadn’t wanted.

No, instead he’d relaxed against the unforgiving brick. Holding his breath, Alec had braced himself and let up on the hold he had on the demon.

The first graze had been incidental, Alec’s grip automatically tightening to keep the demon from hurting him any further.

But Raziel, the pain cut through his consciousness and it had felt _good_. The haze of pain gave way to relief and he’d been greedy for more.

He’d known the dangerous game he was playing. Alec was always in control, though, and the rush of pain was freeing and it swept away the fog that had been wrapped around his brain for weeks. Months.

Closing his eyes, Alec had carefully let the demon pierce him deeper. Looking back, he knows how stupid it was, that things could have gone so wrong so fast.

Still, Alec had known that the demon wasn’t particularly venomous, that he could end the thing whenever he wanted.

He was always, _always_ , in control.

Counting to ten in his head, Alec had felt lightheaded when he’d finally opened his eyes and stared down at the demon. Grinning a little, a feral glint had come into his eye as he’d finally lifted his blade and decapitated the thing, ichor flying everywhere.

Panting in the empty alleyway, Alec had leaned against the wall and concentrated on the pain in his side, hyper-focused on the feeling of blood dripping from the cut and trailing down his side to soak the waistband of his pants.

Slowly lifting his shirt, Alec had stared dumbly down at the wound. Half a dozen inches across, it wasn’t _that_ deep.

Just deep enough, Alec had thought with a slow, hazy grin.

Reaching a hand out, he’d pressed down on the cut, sucking in a sharp breath as the pain _stung_. It eased into a dull ache though and Christ, it felt good. Alec had only ever trained this feeling away-- spending hours in the training room or on the roof until his hands were raw, until he couldn’t breathe without wincing.

This was the first time-- though not the last, he thinks now with a deep frown-- that he’d lingered while out on the field.

The best part, he figured, was that it was while he was on patrol. No one would ever know that he’d let a demon hurt him, that he’d liked it, that he hadn’t immediately killed the goddamn thing as the efficient shadowhunter he was supposed to be.

Looking down at the scar now, Alec reaches a gentle hand out, tracing over the faint line. He hadn’t applied an iratze right away. Instead he’d sunk into the feeling for long minutes, losing track of time, the slow euphoria that swept through him as he let himself linger on the pain, on the way it let everything else fall away addicting.

He didn’t have to think about how he felt like an impostor in his own skin, about his parents who were barely around these days and only seemed to criticize and cut when they were in New York.

There was only dull pain and blissful fucking emptiness. 

By the time Alec had raised his stele to his stomach and scrawled the rune, the wound couldn’t heal all the way. After a few years, the scar was light now, almost invisible, and Alec had mostly forgotten about it.

It was one among a hundred scars that marked him a soldier, after all, and it faded into the background most days.

But Alec knows what it is and he can still feel a trace of the buzz that had lit through his veins. He goes long stretches without thinking about the marks and what they mean. That reality feels so far removed from his life now that it doesn’t even seem like _him_ anymore.

There are these reminders, though, always lurking in his periphery.

His breath catches as he extends an arm, bringing his other hand up to trace of the small cuts that litter the pale skin. Shrapnel that dug into flesh, the recoil from the string of his bow snapping against tender skin until it was raw and bleeding.

Alec has more scars than he can count and some of them, he _is_ proud of-- the bite mark on his back where a drevak demon had clenched it’s double row of teeth over his shoulder before he’d managed to swing around through the pain and plunge an arrow through its eye. Alec had lost too much blood during that night and Jace had had to carry him back to the infirmary. That was a good memory, a testament to his mettle.

As was the long pale scar down his thigh where Alec had flayed his goddamn leg open during a training mission at the Academy. He’d been thirteen and climbing the side of a damned mountain on a trial hunt. A sharp piece of slate had jutted from the side and as Alec had heaved himself up to the top, the rock had impaled him and slit his leg open until the muscle was visible through the pulsing blood. He’d almost let go of his handle and he’d gotten through the rest of the hunt through sheer fucking willpower, finishing first and setting a new record.

That was also a good memory, though at the time Alec had cursed until he was blue in the face at the fucking Clave, the uncaring instructors, and his peers who looked at him with jealousy mixed with contempt.

Those are fine. Those are to be expected of any shadowhunter worth their runes. For the longest time, Alec had been proud of the other scars, too. The ones that were deliberate, the ones he craved and relished, the ones he courted and encouraged and were dirty little secrets that he held close to his side like prizes to be coddled and protected.

Now, though, he’s filled with sadness. Not bitterness or resentment or hatred because the Alec from before managed as best he could with what he had. Shaking his head a little, Alec knows his coping methods were dangerous and unhealthy and extreme but they were all that stood between him and death, total and utter surrender, and he’ll never hold his past self in contempt for the ways he dealt with everything that always threatened to sweep him under.

His hands are covered in scars from training sessions that were more punishment and a desperate need for control than any real attempt at honing his skills. There are marks on his body that he knows he could’ve avoided.

Alec’s grown so much from who he used to be. He’s so much happier and healthier than he was a few years ago.

So much has changed and Alec’s so fucking thankful for that.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice Magnus until his husband wraps arms around his middle from behind. Alec feels the weight of Magnus against his back, the warmth that seems to sink into him as Magnus sweeps one hand down his stomach-- thumb sweeping over the scar that had started this study of his body in the first place-- while the other reaches for a hand.

Bringing their joined hands up until they rest over Alec’s heart, Alec meets Magnus’s eyes in the mirror and his breath catches for an entirely different reason-- a bright, happy feeling clutching his chest-- as he sees the love and knowing in his husband’s unglamoured gaze.

“Beautiful,” Magnus whispers and Alec closes his eyes against the onslaught of emotions that single word raises in him.

Alec has let Magnus in more than he ever thought possible. Magnus knows more than Alec ever planned on confiding in anyone but he still loves Alec.

He still thinks that he’s beautiful and strong and worthy of all the love in the world.

It’s enough to make his eyes burn again.

His teeth worry his lip, biting down to keep a whimper in his throat from where it’s trying to claw its way up.

Alec feels Magnus’s touch ghost over old scars, feels the slow warmth that flows over bruised and blemished skin. He knows that if he opened his eyes, he’d see a wave of blue fading into his battered body.

It’s a soldier’s body and it’s seen more battles and fought more wars than most will ever know.

It’s won, though. It’s a testament to strength Alec never knew he had and as Magnus brushes a lingering trail of kisses over his shoulders, he knows that these signs of weakness and pain and battle don’t turn Magnus off.

Magnus doesn’t love him in spite of his soldier’s calling and a past steeped in anguish. No, he loves Alec because of it. He loves Alec because he’s here, now, and stronger than ever.

It’s overwhelming, to hand someone the worst parts of yourself and wait for their judgment, expecting their condemnation but instead getting nothing but steady support and love and healing.

Shuddering in Magnus’s hold, Alec sighs and leans further into his husband. The sun chases the shadows away and he feels peace lap around him like the quietest of waves, contentment sweeping through him as Magnus tightens his grip, as he feels the steady beat of his heart under their joined hands.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr or twitter @carmenlire!


End file.
